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“Every time a pill sat in Regan's palm she suffered some new strangulation; a faint memory of some distant need to force her heart to race. She'd crave a senseless rage, a dried-up sob, a psychotic joy, but only find pulse after pulse of nothing. Without the volatility of her extremes, what was she? 'Managed,' she'd said.” — Olivie Blake
Every time a pill sat in Regan's palm she suffered some new strangulation; a faint memory of some distant need to force her heart to race. She'd crave a senseless rage, a dried-up sob, a psychotic joy, but only find pulse after pulse of nothing.
Without the volatility of her extremes, what was she?
'Managed,' she'd said.